‘Yes, I know. ’ Gerald eyed her. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother.
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